Our Personal Forever
by Blood Moon Rising154
Summary: It has been three years since Violet and her family had died. Three damned years in the same house, with the same damned people, and the same damned drama between them all. This includes ignoring Tate for the past three years. How much more will he take? My ending to Season One since they left it kinda open. Rated M for language and later chapters.


Violet laid on the bed inside what used to be her room, her head and shoulders dangling off the edge as looked through the CDs the last resident of this room had left behind before he went running for the hills. "Did they not understand what good music was?" she muttered to herself, grimacing at the proactive cover of Nicki Minaj on the front of the CD she was holding. She tossed it onto the bed with the rest of the CDs she had discarded, letting out a hefty sigh. Nothing new for her to listen to that was actually good, but it's not like she didn't already know that. She had been through those CDs a shit ton of times already.

She caught herself thinking of how if she was alive, the blood would be rushing to her head by now, making her light headed and dizzy, close to falling off the bed. How she would sit up and rub her head or maybe she would just let herself fall off. She pushed those thoughts away, scowling. _But you're not alive. You've been dead for three years now. You did it to yourself, though,_ her mind told her coldly. She merely rolled her eyes and pushed herself up and sliding off the bed, raking her fingers through her hair. She found herself staring at the head of the bed, remembering like it was just yesterday the day Tate took her virginity. Her sitting up with her back against the headboard and him lying beside her, cupping his cheek in one of his hands and propped up with that elbow, naked beneath her sheets.

She shook herself mentally, cursing herself and the memories. Violet knew what he had done, to her family and so many others. She slid off the bed and stretched, finding herself listening to the silence of the house. She knew by now that silence meant nothing. There was always something happening.

Violet walked out of the bedroom, going down the stairs, skipping two at a time. She landed on her feet without a sound in what used to be her dad's office. Her eyes wandered around the room, a frown forming on her face. Her dad was usually almost always in here or upstairs. She knew he wasn't upstairs because she would've heard him. She shrugged it off, deciding to just plop down onto the couch and wait for him to pop up, whether that be literal or not only time could tell. She curled her legs beneath her and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, gazing at nothing in particular.

After a few moments, though, she soon realized she had locked eyes with none other than the one and only Tate.

He was standing behind the door that led to the outside from the kitchen and he was watch her through the glass windows. She dropped his gaze without warning, averting it until she was instead staring at the wood paneled walls. Of course, this obviously wasn't the first time they had crossed paths. They had been living in the same house for three years. Eventually, they had no choice but to at the very least see each other. Although, she liked to pretend that she couldn't see him.

Violet hated having to see the hurt in his eyes whenever she caught his gaze.

"I know you can see me, just like you've been able to see me for the past three years, Vi."

Violet practically tumbled off the couch, swirling around to face his wounded dark gaze. For a moment they just stood, studying each other. He was the first to break the silence. "Just because you told me to go away, doesn't mean I can't come back. Nor does it mean I get to leave thise damned house. You're out of luck." His mocking tone struck a nerve and fury bubbled beneath her calm exterior. "Lovely to know you still have a brain after these past few years. What made you decide to actually speak this time?" she snapped at him. His smooth expression didn't change. "The fact that I'm getting fucking tired of standing outside a door or in the shadows staring at you while you barely spare me a glance, like I'm just a piece of furniture." His voice was cold, expressionless. Violet wasn't sure how to deal with this version of Tate. She hadn't ever had to before. This was the reason she stalled to answer him; she didn't know what he might do, but there wasn't much he really could do, was there? She was already dead. "You could always stop staring at me like some creep," she suggested idly, her voice sounding like they were talking about something as simple as the weather.

That got a reaction out of him.

Fury sparked in his gaze and his lips pressed into a firm line. She watched as his hands curled into fists so tight that his knuckles turned white. _Look what you've done now, Sunshine, _her mind snapped at her. "Oh, would you have rather me done more extravagant things instead of giving you your space? Instead of simply watching?" His voice boomed, echoing off the walls as he shouted at her.

She flinched, taking a step back, but that only seemed to infuriate him more. Suddenly, he was standing in front of her, his gaze burning into her. She was used to seeing him crumble to tiny pieces whenever she rejected him. Seeing him beg, shout, cry, blubber out excuses. He always eventually gave her what she wanted and left.

He had never responded to her rejection like this.

She had been so caught up in her surprise that she didn't realize until it was too late that he had shoved her up against the wall, pinning her wrists to her sides. "Would you rather I had _forced _you to listen to me? _Forced_ you to hear what I have to say?!" He was shouting in her face now. He was so close that their noses almost touched. She tried to shrink away from him but he merely shoved her further into the wall, sliding her up so they were at the same height.

Tate was breathing heavily, the only thing proving he wasn't as calm as he looked. Before, Violet hadn't been able to picture a raged filled Tate. A Tate that could kill someone if provoked.

Now she could.

Violet could also see the pent up hurt and anger lurking in the depths of his brown eyes. She could see the satisfaction he had at having her struck speechless and pinned to a wall at his mercy. Part of her knew this was as much her fault as he death was.

The other part could only see the monster she had fabricated him to be to keep her from falling back into his arms.

Slowly, Tate's anger seemed to dissolve. The fierceness was fading from his expression, being replaced only by emotional exhaustion. His gaze wandered down to his hands wrapped around her wrists, his body pressing hers into the wall. Briefly, his eyes closed before they met hers again. "Violet, do you know how much I've missed this? How much I've missed touching you, missed just being able to have a conversation with you. It has been _three years_ since the last time I've felt your skin on mine, had a conversation with you. Yes, I am kind of fucking pissed off that you've been able to walk about and ignore me like it's nothing while I've been breaking inside with each day that passed." As he finished his rant, his voice got lower and lower until it was a simple whisper. His gaze never left hers, though. While everything else about him seemed worn down, his gaze on hers was like a real wildfire, burning into her.

She didn't have a chance to respond before he was talking again. "Oh, Violet, sometimes I believe I actually hate you when I'm watching you from a distance. I soon realize it's not you I hate. It's what we've become that I hate. The fact that I miss you. I hate that, too. Especially when I see you're just fine without me." His voice broke on the word "fine" and Violet almost felt a piece of her break with it. She ignored the soft spot that lingered for him inside her. She replaced it with the fury she still held tight onto all these years.

"Oh, yeah? Well, how the fuck do you think I felt when I found out that one of my new siblings was my boyfriends because he had fucked my mom? That's right, it's just about you, all and mighty Tate Langdon. It didn't cross your mind that maybe what you did would have an effect on me? Did you ever consider that?!" Violet found myself shouting at him by the time she was finished. He flinched away from the sharpness of her voice, his grip on her wrists loosening. "It's not all about me," he muttered, "and you know that I knew it would effect you. Why else would I hide it, Violet? I didn't even really know you when I did that. I didn't love you, yet. I was a different person. You changed me. But you don't seem to get that I'm different now. That I'm sorry."

"Psychopaths can't be sorry," Violet said coldly.

This caused him to drop her wrists completely and take a step back. He stared at her with tears welling up in his eyes. She stared back at him with wide eyes. Even she couldn't believe she had said that.

She took a step towards him, reaching for him. "Tate, I didn't**—"**

He was gone before she could finish.

For a while, she just stared at the place he had been standing. Hours, minutes, seconds, she wasn't sure. But eventually, she sank to her knees, letting out a heart wrenching sob. She covered her face with her hands, tears flowing freely down her cold cheeks. Memories flashed through her mind.

Tate and her sitting across from each other, just talking.

Tate telling her about the first owner of the house.

Tate giving her a black rose before they're first date.

Tate and her making out on a blanket in front of the ocean, under the stars.

Tate and her on her bed, her arms wrapped around him from behind.

With each passing image, she felt her sobs becoming more pronounced, more broken. Suddenly arms were wrapped around her, pulling her closer. Violet let her hands drop from her face as she looked up and met her mothers gaze. "Shhh," her mother murmured, pulling her closer. Silently, Violet buried her face into her mother's shoulder, taking deep, shaky breaths to calm herself. Her mother rubbed her back until her tears had dried and her sobs had turned into hiccups.

"It's okay to forgive him, you know. For what he did to me, anyway," her mother stated calmly. Violet lifted her head from her mom's shoulder to look at her in surprise. "But, he**—"**

"I know what he did to me," Vivien interrupted her. "But there's no point in holding a grudge over it now. That's over with." Violet had no response for her mother. She felt small and vulnerable, like a little kid again. She was so unsure of herself, of what to do.

After a while, Vivien pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You'll figure it out. I know you will." She stood languidly, looking down sadly at her daughter who was still a sniveling mess on the floor. "Boys are jerks, aren't they?" she said lightly. Violet hiccuped a laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, they are. But I'll figure this out." She rubbed her face, wiping away any remaining tears.

She peered up at her mother. "Thank you," she murmured softly. Vivien smiled down at her daughter. "We might be dead, but I'm still your mom." She reached down and ruffled her hair.

Then she was gone, too.

Violet leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes. Most people would think dying would at least have the benefit of no drama.

Boy, were they dead wrong.

/

Tate stood just around the corner from the home office. Violet's cries had tore him apart inside, making him want to run to her and wrap her up in his arms, soothe her, comfort her, something to make that heartbreaking sound stop.

He was still mulling over what Mrs. Harmon had said. Would Violet forgive him since she had?

Tate highly doubted it would be that easy.


End file.
